


The Curious Adventure of the Ginger Tom

by Tripleransom



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Watson's Woes WAdvent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 18:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9084955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tripleransom/pseuds/Tripleransom
Summary: Several of you were kind enough to enquire about Billy, Neddie, and Oliver, so here they are again.





	

A/N: Written for the December 27 entry in the 2016 WAdvent Fest. A sequel of sorts to my story _And Bring Us a Happy New Year_ , which contains the backstory of the children and Oliver. It can be found here on AO3

It was a dreary morning in late December when I was awoken from a half doze by a commotion on the step outside. It was a few days after Christmas and I was looking forward to spending another quiet day with Holmes. For once, no geese stuffed with enormous jewels had appeared on the sideboard and no dignified schoolmasters had pitched headlong on the hearth rug. Mrs Hudson had returned yesterday from spending the holiday at her sister's, after arranging for a delicious feast for us with Mrs Baxter down the street. In return, I had bullied Holmes into already tidying up our rooms and we had put away the Christmas decorations, although I had secreted a sprig of mistletoe away for possible future use.

Christmas presents had duly been exchanged. There had been some lace for Mrs Hudson and a new pipe for Holmes; one that I had once seen him admire. I had had no doubt that he would know even before I handed him the package what it was that I had bought him, and so he did, but I had resigned myself to that long ago. My present from Holmes, a new dressing gown, was lying across the foot of my bed where it had been hastily discarded the night before.

I was lazing in bed, contemplating the prospect of a leisurely morning in front of the fire with Mrs Hudson's excellent breakfast and perhaps an extra cup of coffee. Holmes had left my room not long ago. He and I had made rather a late night of it the previous evening, engaging in pleasurable, though highly immoral, not to say illegal activities and I was disinclined at first to arise and investigate the disturbance.

However, since I was eventually able to distinguish repeated cries of "Dr Wats'n! Dr Wats'n!" in a childish voice, I started up and threw on my new dressing gown to see what was the matter. As I hurriedly descended the steps, Holmes emerged from his room, similarly attired.

I threw up the sash and stuck my head out the window to see what the disturbance was. On the stoop outside was a large policeman, shaking a struggling child by the collar.

"Hold on, constable, we're coming down directly," Holmes called out and together we descended the stairs. Mrs Hudson arrived a step ahead of us and unlocked the door.

When we arrived, the constable was continuing to shake the child, while he prodded a large bag on the step with his foot. From the bag, a low, menacing rumble emerged.

"What seems to be the trouble, constable?" demanded Holmes, wrapping his dressing gown more tightly about himself, for the air was icy.

"I was just on my way 'ome after my shift, when I saw this 'ere urchin was Morrisin' about on your doorstep, a'jumpin' up and down. Tryin' to steal the brass of the knocker, most likely." He gave the child another rough shake. "'e's got some sort of wild animal in that bag, too." He prodded the bag again, which caused the rumbling to increase in volume.

Here Mrs Hudson interposed. "Constable, put that child down immediately!" she said sternly. "Can't you see you're hurting him?" Abashed, the constable set the child on his feet, but retained a firm hold on his arm.

Holmes pinched the bridge of his nose. "Constable" he said wearily, "does it seem likely to you that the lad was trying to steal the brass when he was making so much racket? Doesn't it seem much more likely that he was trying to reach the knocker to actually use it?"

"Well..." the constable said slowly, obviously working this through, "what call had the likes o' 'im to be a'knockin' on your door at this hour of morning, anyways?"

"If you'd stop shaking him, he could probably tell us," I interposed, crouching down to bring myself to the child's level, although this move placed me in an uncomfortable proximity to the bag, which continued to rumble alarmingly.

The child looked up at me, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with his coat sleeve. "Don't you know me, Dr Wats'n? " he asked?

"Good Heavens" I exclaimed. "It's Neddie!"

"Neddie?" cried Mrs Hudson. "Whatever are you doing on the stoop, child?"

"We was comin' to find you, Dr Watson," the child continued "an' we fell asleep. We thought we wuz back in a doorway, but a policeman came along and tried to 'rest us. He got Billy, but Billy told me to find you, so I grabbed Oliver and ran. But they got Billy and they're goin' to put 'im in gaol. I found the 'ouse, but I couldn't reach th' bell. I was tryin' to jump for it when this copper came along. I wasn't tryin' to steal anythin' - honest! I just wanted to get you to help Billy!"

"But the last time I saw you, everything was all right," I expostulated.

The child went on bravely, though her lip trembled. "Ma died, and then the baby, and Dad left. Polly married Tom, the cats' meat man, and they took us, but Polly's expectin' and Tom said 'e couldn't keep us no more, with a family of their own on the way, so Polly give Billy a sixpence and said to find you, Dr Watson, and maybe Ol' L-." she paused, bit her lip and went on "Mrs "Udson'd have work for us, now that I'm more grown up. And Oliver's ever so good at mousin' - even catches rats, 'e does. But it's a long walk over 'ere and we was tired and fell asleep, and the next thing I knew a copper 'ad ahold of Billy and 'e said to find you, and I grabbed Oliver and ran, and 'ere I am!"

"And quite right, too," said the constable. "You know it's illegal to sleep on the public street. But 'oo's this Oliver and that still don't explain the wild animal you got in 'ere." He prodded the bag again with his foot and it fell open, slit as if by a savage claw. With an indescribable noise, somewhere between a hiss and a roar, tried beyond all patience, a huge ginger tabby burst out and glanced off the constable, who fell over backwards down the steps. His flailing foot caught me and had it not been for Holmes's lightning reflexes, I would have followed him. The cat cleared the railing in a single bound, and tore off down the street. Neddie wrenched herself from my grasp with a wail of "Oliver!" and ran off down the street after him, dodging the early morning traffic as she went, leaving the four of us staring after them.

Holmes gave me a hand up, which I accepted gratefully, for my leg was paining me, then held on to me as I made to start after Neddie. "You can't go anywhere like that, old boy," he said, indicating our state of undress, "and neither can I."

He put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly. Within seconds another boy came running up from where he was sweeping the street. "Did you see the child and the cat?" Holmes asked.

"I did, and they weren't 'alf flyin' too," he replied admiringly. "Was that Neddie and that Oliver? He's growed up all right. I ain't seen them in a while."

"Well, follow them," said Holmes, flipping the boy a coin. "Bring them back here if you can, or at least see where they've gone. We'd better get dressed and rescue Billy. A quick look at a map should allow me to deduce with relative certainty the station to which he's been taken. Mrs Hudson, perhaps you'll give the constable a cup of tea for his trouble."

The constable, who was examining his scratched helmet with a scowl, looked up eagerly at this. Mrs Hudson gave Holmes a meaningful look and replied, "Of course and I was just putting in some seedy cake as well." Holmes winked at her and ushered me upstairs with him.

My service in the Army had taught me to ready myself quickly, but when I re-entered the sitting room, Holmes was there before me, already looking over a London map. He made a note on his shirt cuff and looked up, his eyes gleaming. "He must be in one of two stations. Let's be off!"

We hastened down the stairs where Holmes, as usual, was able to secure a cab immediately. As we rattled off towards the East, I asked how he had managed to narrow down the list of possible destinations so quickly. "A simple calculation of how far it was likely two small children burdened with some amount of baggage would have been able to walk before succumbing to weariness, then estimating how far Neddie could have run, clutching the bag with that dratted cat, who is no insignificant weight, judging by the brief glimpse I had of him."

As it happened, we struck pay dirt on at the first station we tried, where Holmes was able to secure Billy's release in short order. "'ighly irregular, but seenin's it's you , Mr Holmes..."

As we started back for Baker Street, with a wide-eyed Billy in the cab between us, I asked him how things had come to such a pass. After repeating substantially what Neddie had already told us, with embellishments, "Tom's not a bad sort, always 'ad a bit for Oliver." He confirmed why they had left. "Polly didn't want us to go to work in a factory, even though we're old enough, so she give us a shillin' from her washin' money and told us to go find you, that maybe you could find us some work, so we set off. Tom won't be 'alf mad when he finds out what she done, neither."

"We walked and walked, till Neddie couldn't go no further, then we went to sleep. I thought we was off the street enough, but they came and nabbed me anyways. I yelled for Neddie to run and she grabbed Oliver and lit off like blazes," he said admiringly. "I guess she found you all right."

Holmes and I exchanged glances over Billy's head during this recital. "How old are you now, Billy?" I asked.

"Poll reckons I'm seven, Neddie's almost six, and Oliver's more'n a year." he replied stoutly. "She can clean for you and I can do the fetchin' and carryin' if you'll have us. Besides, I'm old enough to be a real Irregular now - I'll be ever so useful and earn my keep. And Oliver's a champion mouser an'..." Here Billy paused for breath.

Holmes cleared his throat.

"Well, surely we can find something for you to do," I replied, catching Holmes's eye with a tiny shake of my head.

Just at that moment, the cab pulled up in front of Baker Street. Holmes was out in a flash, leaving me to deal with the fare, just as the boy he had sent after Neddie came into view. Neddie herself was nowhere in sight.

"What is it, Squeaker,' said Holmes, "where's Neddie?"

"She fell," said the boy breathlessly, his words tumbling over one another in his haste. "I followed 'em down the street and into a mews. That Oliver went up in the loft with Neddie after 'im and she fell through a trap into one of th' loose-boxes. She's hit 'er head and she's a-layin' in th' hay rick and there's a 'orse in there. 'E was kicking up a ruckus and I didn't dare go in, so I come back for you."

"Well, show us the way," commanded Holmes.

I had just time to hand Billy over to Mrs Hudson, despite his protests. "We'll be quicker without you, lad. Don't worry - we'll fetch her home safe and sound," I promised him, hoping that what I was saying was the truth, and then turned to follow Holmes and Squeaker, who were already half-way down the block.

When we arrived at the mews, the stable door was ajar and there was no one to be seen., except Oliver, pacing anxiously just outside. "There you are, you wretch," I said. He had grown into an enormous cat in the ensuing year since I had last seen him. Clearly, he was either the champion mouser that Billy had claimed, or else Tom had been generous with his 'bits'.

Cautiously, we slipped inside the stable. "I ain't seen no one anywheres around when I was 'ere before," said Squeaker, leading the way to where a horse in a spacious loose-box was vigorously banging his empty water-bucket.

"Their coachman should be sacked," muttered Holmes grimly, as he looked over the door. "He's out drinking at the Rose and Briar." Sure enough, there lay Neddie, half in and half out of the wooden manger, a trickle of blood running down the side of her head. With a bound, Oliver was over the door, across the box, and into the manger, where he proceeded to lick Neddie's face and meow piteously. "Fetch a bucket of water for him, Squeaker," said Holmes, slipping a halter on the horse. "Watson! I'll hold him while you see to Neddie."

I slipped into the stall and quickly examined the unconscious child, with Oliver twining anxiously around my ankles. She had a bruise on her forehead, where she had evidently struck it when she fell through the trap, but no other obvious injuries, so I gathered her up and carried her out of the stall. By this time Squeaker was back with the water, so Homes watered the horse and shut the stall door.

By now Neddie was awake. "My head hurts," were her first words as I knelt down with her, followed by a cry of "Oliver!"

"Easy Neddie," I said, "he's right here." And indeed he was, purring loudly, lashing his tail. and generally interfering with my efforts to check her over. "We need to get her back to Baker Street, where it's warmer."

"I'll carry her back, Watson," Holmes said. "Can you bring that dratted cat along?"  
"Now, Holmes," I expostulated, "that's hardly fair. It wasn't Oliver's fault that she fell and you can see how worried the poor thing is about her."

Holmes glared at me, but kept his peace and so we made our way back to Baker Street, with Neddie in Holmes's arms, me carrying the squirming Oliver, and a grinning Squeaker bringing up the rear.

Back at home, we were treated to the sight of Billy opening the door for us, dressed in one of Holmes's second-best shirts, chattering excitedly about cocoa and bread "an' butter, too". There was some for Squeaker also and Neddie as well, as soon as I had made certain that she was not concussed and would be fine after a meal and some sleep. "But she will have to clean up first," Mrs Hudson said determinedly. "I'll not have her eating at my table as dirty as that. I'll send the maid up with tea for you gentlemen in a few minutes."

We left the children in her capable hands and went upstairs, with Oliver twining about Holmes's legs, as he half-heartedly tried to shoo him off. Shutting the door firmly behind us when we got to the top, he collapsed into his chair before the fire. "I declare, Watson," he groaned, "chasing criminals across half of London is not half so fatiguing as dealing with children - and that dratted cat! - for two hours!"

"So much for our quiet Christmas season," I said with a chuckle, "I think perhaps you may need to get used to the children. They seem quite determined to attach themselves to the household and I'm sure they will be very useful. They are both bright youngsters. I have no doubt that we can manage to see to their schooling and help with their upkeep. As for Oliver, there have been mice in the walls ever since Mrs Hudson's Tabby passed away. Let us hope that he lives up to his fearsome reputation."

Just then we heard a whispered conference outside the door, followed by a knock and the door opened to reveal a beaming Billy, still wearing Holmes's shirt, followed by Mrs Hudson bearing a welcome tray of tea and sandwiches. "We've been needing a page since the other boy left," she said. I thought it best to begin Billy's training directly. His own clothes are still drying and the uniform will need altering."

As they entered, I thought I saw a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I looked again, there was nothing there. I forgot all about it when I realised that it was already afternoon and I had had neither breakfast nor luncheon. Passing a hand over my stubbly chin, I thought briefly about making myself a bit more presentable, but Holmes forestalled me.

"At least have your tea first, Watson. Your ablutions can wait, surely."

We had hardly poured the tea, when a crashing noise wafted up the stairs. "What on earth was that, Holmes?" I exclaimed.

"That, I believe, was Mrs Hudson training her new kitchen help," Holmes replied, serving himself a crookedly-cut sandwich. I put my head out the door and listened, but now all was quiet, except for the murmur of voices from belowstairs.

I sat back down and applied myself to my tea, but hardly had I begun when there was another clatter. This time, I opened the door and called out, "Is everything all right, Mrs Hudson?"

She appeared at the bottom of the stairs a moment later, imperturbable as always, but there was a definite note of strain in her voice when she replied. "Right as rain, Doctor, right as rain. Ah - will you gentlemen be dining in this evening?"

Casting a quick glance at Holmes, I replied, " I think we will be going out for a walk. Shortly, in fact. And we will be gone until quite late. And dining out. No need to make anything for us - no need at all, no indeed." Holmes's eyebrows climbed at that and he looked as if he were about to object, for the weather was most unpromising and we had rather planned on staying in, but I shook my head with a warning look at him and he subsided. The look of relief on Mrs Hudson's. face was unmistakable.

The weather was as foul as I had feared and after rambling about for a little, we headed by some sort of unspoken accord , to Scotland Yard. After determining there was nothing to interest Holmes there, we repaired to Simpson's for dinner where we had felt the need to linger at the table, fortifying ourselves with more than one bottle of wine afterwards. Thus, it was quite late when we returned to Baker Street and no light showed under Mrs Hudson's door. All seemed quiet when we entered the sitting room. The fire in was still burning and the room was pleasant enough. The door to Holmes's bedroom was ajar and again, I thought I saw a flash of movement when we entered, but all seemed quiet and I said nothing.

Holmes gave one of his tremendous stretches - he rather reminded me of a cat himself when he did so - and gave me a suggestive smile. " I think I'll turn in, old boy. Coming?"

"If you are all that tired..." I let my voice trail off deliberately, raising a eyebrow at him.

Holmes huffed. "On the contrary, I find myself somewhat restored by that excellent dinner and my room is right to hand, should you care to join me."

"Perhaps I shall," I replied, "Just for convenience, you understand. I find myself disinclined to walk up all those steps. I'll just bank the fire."

Holmes sauntered off with a smirk, leaving his bedroom door open. It was only a moment later, however, when there came an outraged cry of "Watson! Come here - I need you." I leapt up, grabbing the poker on my way to the bedroom door, for there had been an unmistakable note of alarm in Holmes's voice.

I burst into the room, ready for anything. Wordlessly, Holmes pointed to the bed. At its foot reclined Oliver, looking smug as only cats can manage. Laid out on the pillow was the neatly decapitated body of a freshly killed mouse.

Chuckling, I said, "he's only brought you a belated Christmas gift in return for saving Neddie, Holmes, isn't that nice? He likes you."

"First children, now this...this cat!" he grumbled. " On second thought, let's repair to your room for the night."

As we turned to go, however, I was quite certain I saw him drop his hand to Oliver's head in a brief caress.


End file.
